I'm back . . .

Just had a brief hiatus due to taking on too much responsibility at once (more on that in future posts) and a broken space bar.
There is nothing that will deter you from typing an email (or blog) more than a broken space bar. I'm typing with it now and I'm already about to wrap up this post. I can either type really slowly or just type onebigword-sentencewithoutspaces.

So, we had some friends come down and we all trekked it over to Baton Rouge (our great state's capital) to lose to the LSU Tigers. The LSU fans are sorta SEC db's who dress up to attend football games but then later puke all over their Sunday clothes out back of their parents' pimped-out Tiger Winnebago.

Really, the fans weren't that bad. They yell "Tiger Bait, Tiger Bait" as you walk by which is super annoying but kinda funny. And anyway, if you're not PITT, it's kinda hard to get under a WVU fan's skin.

One of these gentlemen gave me permission to use his photo. The other doesn't know this blog exists.

BUT, we made a VOODOO CHICKEN. Here is the picture.

The voodoo chicken didn't work. Maybe because we didn't stab it with anything. We spent a lot of time walking around the French Quarter trying to find a tiny LSU football helmet and coolie to dress the chicken, where I ran into three friends from my home town. The quarter was overrun with West Virginians drinking hurricanes and singing "Country Roads."

Here are some more tailgate pics:

Tiger Bait

The voodoo chicken really confused people. "But we're tigers" they kept saying.

Weird Louisiana fungus that sprouted in the courtyard. Looks like something out of Alien.

Rounding out the minor league season in the Big Easy

There are probably lots of reasons why nobody goes to the games of the minor league New Orleans Zephyrs. One is that the stadium is technically in the 'burbs, not Downtown like glorious PNC Park. Another, and I'm just taking a wild guess here, is that because the team plays in New Orleans. In the summer. It's too frickin' hot to go sit for three hours in a plastic chair in an open-air stadium. But we went during this past weekend's "cold front" where the temperature actually dropped below 85 F and you didn't need to carry a water bottle with you just to go get the mail.

Big Time

The fleur-de-Z

The season winded down yesterday with a win against the Nashville Sounds. And boy, was it exciting. Over my plate of "Pig Nachos" I watched some fairly boring baseball, but some pretty clever attempts at fan and community involvement. Know how the Pirates have the Great Perogie Race n'at? Well, the Zephyrs have Dizzie Lizzie. Here's the pics:

It's about to get crazy

And they're off

Man down--Notice her opponent doing the Thriller dance in the background

Besides the stellar athleticism, you may have noticed something else in the above pictures. That is the New Orleans Zephyrs' mascot. He's a nutria and his name is Boudreaux (pronounced "Boo-Dro"). Bou actually has a girlfriend but she had the day off and was home cooking up some shrimp and grits. For a funny article about this mascot and others, visit http://www.bofads.com/stories/baseballmascots.htm.

The stadium is small, which is kinda cool since you can get really close to the field and the players. It's kinda not cool when said players throw bats at the fans, though. I was in the food line during the action, but apparently two batters in a row threw their bats--one went right at the Zephyr's dugout and the other into the section where we were supposed to be sitting, but chose the shade instead.

I missed those two but I did see the third bat throw. This girl saw the bat coming at her and tried to turn and flee, only to be smacked right in the lower back. She screamed and all action stopped on the field, except for the some old stadium worker who ran over to her. At this point, Edgar Snyder, Pittsburgh's finest personal injury champion, began surfing kayak.com for cheap flights to Nola. Hee hee.

Anyway, turns out the girl was fine. Her little brother even got a souvenir bat that he could use to whack her again later at home.

Assessment

 

"Come with us. We need you to sign away your rights."

All in all, I recommend attending a Zephyrs game. Beer is cheaper than at PNC Park and you get a souvenir cup. The season starts April 15, 2011. Season tickets are cheaper than attending one Saints game. By the by, their season starts on Thursday. Let's see how the Who Dat gang compares to Steeler Nation and their merry band of delinquents.

Hello from City Hall!

I'm doing an unpaid internship with the city of New Orleans. This disgusts my republican-for-life dad more than he'll ever admit. But I think it's cool. Here's why.

I can't tell you what department and with whom I work Monday-Thursday (Friday is sorta a "half day" for most of NO City Hall's employees) but I can give you some inside glimpses of what it's like. Here's a story of what happened to me on Tuesday. We are walking through the first floor of City Hall (the mayor is on the second). I'm trailing my boss, we'll call her Ms. Toni, who stomps around and calls out "Hey, there's my baby! How's my boo-boo?" to every person we pass. And they love it! Everyone, from the front-door security guard to Mayor Mitch's personal security guard to the maintenance people smile and tell her Boo-boo is alright! But I digress.

I'm walking. I see a $20 bill on the floor. I pick it up and feel guilty because it's not mine. So I ask a gentleman who is walking a little ahead of me if he lost his money. He's in a nice suit and talking on a blackberry. He sees the money in my hand, ends his phone call and immediately puts his fingers on the bill so we're each holding an end like a "Chinese finger trap" or whatever those things were called. I say "Did you lose this money?" He says, "I don't think so." And I am thinking, hmm, this is where I get lucky and get $20 to buy lunch for myself and Ms. Toni at Subway. But no, this is actually where the big-time city politician takes the money from my hand and mumbles that he'll "give it to somebody" and turns around and walks off.

Who do you think he'll give it to? Images of Elliot Spitzer and for some reason, the facebook page of that very pretty "escort" Ashley Dupree come to mind.

So I have to hurry to catch up with Ms. Toni at the end of the hall who saw the whole thing and is already bitching about what we could have done with the money and she's right, of course. But NOW we are going for a ride in an official City Hall van to Zea on St. Charles to pick up items for a surprise retirement party we are planning. Our driver is a lively, happy boo-boo of Ms. Toni. Those two are yucking it up all the way to the van. When I ask the gentleman for his name, he turns around and points to his NO City polo shirt where "Mr. Cousins" is neatly stitched. So I say "Nice to meet you Mr. Cousins." And he says, "No, it's Coo-zan!" Like I am the dumbest yankee he has ever met. Because I am.

So Ms. Toni, Mr. Coo-zan and I pile into the front seat of the van and before we are even out of the garage, those two are reading prayer cards that Mr. Coo-zan keeps in his cup holder. He says he goes to church every morning before work. I admire that kind of devotion. But I do not admire people who stop their vans at the exits of parking garages to read the prayer to St. Jude and St. Andrew and whoever else and chat like we are sitting on a park bench. So the honking from behind starts and we are eventually on our way.

During the drive I'm treated to a little tour of Downtown. We pass the Hyatt, which Mr. Coo-zan tells me had all of its windows and most of the structure of the top floors blown away during "the tornado." I'm assuming he means Hurricane Katrina, but there were probably twisters, too. We also pass through a not-so-luxurious neighborhood behind St. Charles Avenue where Ms. Toni tells me I should buy a house because the government will give me money to fix it up. This is where Mr. Coo-zan entertains us with the story about the money he owes to the IRS and whoever else. He hasn't paid taxes since 2005, his reasoning being that he hasn't been helped by the government since then so why should he pay? I do not even dare to point out who paved the road we are currently traveling on or even, who signs his paychecks. New Orleans has some federal money pumped into it . . . but this is not that kind of blog. These people are so fun and so nice, that I don't even care. I just look out the window and smile.

When we get dropped off on the corner, Ms. Toni calls out to another Boo-boo in a gray suit as he's walking out the door. A lively back and forth ensues until the gentleman turns around and smacks right into a light pole. But he's smiling, and he walks away whistling to himself.