Dumbidity

Katrinnaversary Controversy

The guy in the lawnmower commercial on WWL, The Big Ate Seventy, has been sayin' "Summazaponus!" for weeks, and in just 3 more of 'em, it will have been 1 year since Katrina was upon us.

Late last week, growing public outcry squelched some poorly conceived plans by Lord Mayor of the Emeril™ City and some casino officials to mark the date with comedy shows and fireworks. (LINK)

Um, no.

But in a city that loves an argument, there is division on this. Some think only a somber observance respecting those who lost their lives, livelihoods, neighbors and neighborhoods would be appropriate. Others want to celebrate recovery, to the extent it's happening, and rebirth, to the extent it's changing anything.

They both have points, and I think it's clearly inappropriate to hold a comic Standupfest, much less a fireworks display. But I think some acknowledgment of the countless hours - most unheralded - put in by a determined populace to bring their city back is worthy of some formal observance.

Whatcha tinka dat, hanh?

This Can Be Fisked Fixed

Latest crisis alert from the Asinine Press...

Many Young Americans Unable to Find Louisiana on Map

• One-third of respondents couldn't pinpoint Louisiana on a map and 48 percent were unable to locate Mississippi.

Simply rename the state "Mardi Gras." Problem solved. And who really needs to know where Mississississississippi is?

• Fewer than three in 10 think it important to know the locations of countries in the news and just 14 percent believe speaking another language is a necessary skill.

Racist, xenophobic pollsters should include illegal aliens in their sample.

• Two-thirds didn't know that the earthquake that killed 70,000 people in October 2005 occurred in Pakistan.

I'd say that reflects more poorly on news agencies than American yutes.

• Six in 10 could not find Iraq on a map of the Middle East.

Renew the Draft and I bet they could pinpoint Tikrit blindfolded.

• While the outsourcing of jobs to India has been a major U.S. business story, 47 percent could not find the Indian subcontinent on a map of Asia.

Big deal. Just call 1-800 WHERYAT and whoever answers can tell ya.

• While Israeli-Palestinian strife has been in the news for the entire lives of the respondents, 75 percent were unable to locate Israel on a map of the Middle East.

About 99% of Arab respondents can't/won't find it either. Quit using maps from Arab cartographers.

• Nearly three-quarters incorrectly named English as the most widely spoken native language. ...even in America. 

OK, you got me on that one.

• Six in 10 did not know the border between North and South Korea is the most heavily fortified in the world. Thirty percent thought the most heavily fortified border was between the United States and Mexico.

If they want to fulfill their (renewed) Selective Service Obligation, young mens and wimmens could spend their tours of duty in the extreme Southwest U.S. learning the construction trade - trenching, forming, pouring and finishing concrete, bricklaying, razor-wire running - since it would be sorta rude to underpay Mexican laborers to do it.

Overheard on the Streets of New Orleans

Walking through the Central Business District recently, I overheard a native advising a visitor as they dodged traffic in the middle of the block on St. Charles:

"There's no jaywalkin' lawr in Nuawlin's, but the pennaldy is death."

Double Secret-Agent Probation!

The concept of a Panty Raid is taking on a whole new meaning at LSU.

Real life is stranger than fiction. With so much of New Orleans moved north to Baton Rouge, now those sneaky little snits Marmalard and Neidermeyer, and even Dean Wormer, had better watch themselves on campus now - Phi Beta Iota has moved onto LSU's campus.

That's right, you heard right, the Special Agents for tonight are displaced from the N'Arlins Office of the FBI and they're living in the house formerly occupied by Sigma Nu on the Frat end of Sorority Row.

Phi Beta Iota holds their rush and initiation activities off campus, so there's little or no oversight by either the Dean of Students or the Panhellenic Council. Not everyone who pledges becomes an Active. Not everyone who fails to become a pledge is accepted into the Witness Protection Program.

Their homecoming float will have antennae hidden and 360° high-resolution digital video cameras studying competing Frats and scrutinizing passersby. No word on the outcome of the election of their sweatheart - the race between Janet Reno and a J. Edgar Hoover impersonator is going down to the wiretap. Housemother? Well, let's just say she makes Nurse Ratched look like Mrs. Doubtfire.

Can't find a parking place because all those black Suburbans got there first - right behind a Justice Department Retrieval and Impoundment Vehicle? Before you knock on their door to complain, remember that you have the right to remain silent.

So Brother Deltas, that dude doing a kegstand in the front yard of the house blaring a classic Johnny Rivers tune - the guy with the mirrored sunglasses and the earwire running down his neck into his black "You're Busted" t-shirt that you just called a string of unrepeatable names -  is a G-man.

Behave. Your permanent record may depend on it.

Ode to Hoselessness

Ode to the many fine Ladies in modern society:

One understands that hosiery,
In all its incarnations,
Incite confounded misery
And purpled incantations.

Such joy was brought to womankind
The fair day it was known
That pantyhose would ne'er more bind
For bare legs could be shown.

As one whose gaze on well-turned pegs
So naturally falls,
This author speaks of unclad legs
Opinion that appalls.

Of maidens young and lithe of limb
T'were few who sought to question
This boon of fashion's fickle whim
And ponder life's direction.

But fate and twisted irony
Can not be held at bay,
For flaws are there for all to see,
No longer hid away.

The purple bruise and razor nick
Present for their inspection,
While spider veins and ankles thick
Cannot avoid detection.

A flaky patch, some mottled skin
The scars from youthful tumble,
Are like a SHOUT, a horrid din,
Not just a muted mumble.

Asthetic'lly, it may be such
That stocking'd legs have passed.
Sarcastic'lly, one won't think much
Of what is said, this last:

One understands, if comfort rules
Then all old rules are blurry.
Why not abjure their bladed tools
And let their stems go furry?

I rather expect to be e-seiged by enraged, yet comfortable, wimmings carrying torches, pitchforques and various other implements of destruction as they storm the castle, but I don't care. That they'll all be bare-legged will be the cause for me to apathetically slip from atop the battlements into the moat without further struggle.

Bangor Not

For the second time in a week, a European airliner bound for for Boston has been diverted because a passenger's name matched up with one on the Do Not Call No-Fly list. (Here's the other one.)

While it's reassuring that both appear to be cases of mistaken identities, it's also perplexing.

• Does it take so long to match off this list that those in charge don't catch it until the planes in the air?
• Do they announce they've diverted the flight before they land?
• Isn't detaining someone because their name fit a profile a type of profiling?

And here's something else to chew on: If you lived in Bangor, Maine, wouldn't it make you feel just a bit second-rate that Boston, Massachusetts must be protected at the risk of you and your fellow Bangorians?

A PC Election Victory

That's PC as in "Pirate Captain" me hearties!

With just over 5 months to go before National Talk Like a Pirate Day, it appears the universal appeal of the scurvy scoundrels sailing the seven seas has enabled the Pirate Captain* to be elected President of the North Carolina State University Student Body.

Arrrrr!

If trends like this be true, beware the sea-hag Hillary! An eye patch, hook and a parrot'd fit 'er to a tee. And 'er first mate's already got a woody leg.

Shiver me timbers!

* Be ye patient with the Pirate Captain's website, as so many landlubbers and freebooters've blown down 'is bandwidth.

Schlock for Sale

Cripes, Suzette! has documented the efforts of the Burger King franchise in her area to nudge their broiled-patty, pickle-partial patrons towards enlightenment, if not inner peace with profound concepts printed on their bags. Yea verily, yea:

IS THIS BREAKFAST YOU'RE EATING THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY OR IS IT THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF YOUR LIFE? TODAY MIGHT BE THE DAY YOU HEAR YOUR FAVORITE SONG FOR THE FIRST TIME OR MEET YOUR GREATEST LOVE. HERE'S TO THE BEST DAY EVER. FUEL UP.

You might meat your greatest love? With burger bref? Hope ya held the onions.

OK, if BK will pay to put schlock like that on their burgerbags, there's obviously a market niche for me to exploit. Whatcha 'spoze the market would bear for first rate independent contractor schlock?

"Check the lint trap in your dryer, lest ye die."

"Ignorance is bliss, so naturally I'm mizzable."

"Don't put beans up your nose."

"If curious, use a chicken to measure it."

"When your nose tells you milk, eggs or meat have gone bad, get at least one other person's opinion."

That's at least as crummy as what was on the bag.

Peeving

'When I get a whiff of the scents guys wear, I almost always recall the line from "Cheers" where Diane refers to her on-again off-again romance parter as "Sam 'I-reek-therefore-I-am' Malone."

I don't mind so much that guys put on aftershaves and colognes or even perfumed deodorants, but I don't particularly care to daub such things upon myself as part of my daily toilette in preparation for toil at the jobsite.

I mind the hell out of it when they don't wash their choice of eau de funque offa their stinky paws before we shake hands and it gets on me.

Nasty nasty nasty.

Like it was Woodstock or Something

Between acts, an announcement is made...

We've had some reports of some bad acid out there that you might wanna stay away from, man.

Yesterday afternoon, I get this message from my Dear Sweet Wife that starts out something like "The girls are alright, but..." that raised up the little hairs on my neckbones.

Turns out one of the thousands of chemical-bearing trucks that pass directly through the LSU campus along LA 30 (named Nicholson Drive after an LSU foreplayer forefather) leaked a couple hundred gallons of some really bad acid - hydrochloric badassid. (LSU Daily Revile article here.)

The severity wasn't lost on Gracie or Gladys who recalled their Chemistry instructors made a BIG DEAL about safety using the dilute class lab version. They also had to find rides home because the Hazmat team cordoned off the parking lot in which our LBC* was parked.

Gladys said a friend came back from near the scene and commented that the concrete was "bubbling." No kidding - concrete in a puddle of HCL (muriatic acid) acts like seltzer-tablets in a glass of water.

I imagine CBS will get a reporter down here darn quick to report on the rampant use of acid on campus. Idyots.

* Little Bitty Car.