Georgia Florida Week

Is there anything better than this week? Think about it, all year during the off-season we talk football and wonder if the season will ever arrive. Then comes the beginning of Spring practice and we can actually go out and watch the Gators practice. Three weeks later it is time for the Orange and Blue Spring game and we get to see the freshmen perform and a few of the starters. Just as an aside you think we aren't fans? Sixty six thousand came to the Spring game, that is just about double what the University of Miami draws to an actual game. Then comes the long, slow, foot dragging summer that never seems to end. Finally, and I do mean finally, the September weekend rolls around when we kick it off. Usually there is little doubt about the outcome but, it is still Gator football. Following weekends are filled with anticipation of opening Southeastern Conference football, with us, Tennessee is first,(with their lame brained coach.} Afterwards it is game on for the rest of the season. But, there is nothing like Georgia week, especially when you are ranked number one and the hated Dawgs are having a bad year. Does it get any better than this? I don't think so.

The other night I heard someone say that we are going to lose a lot in graduating seniors and they are already worried about next year. Are you kidding me? Next year? What about this year? Man oh man, I want to just enjoy now....you know the present time... Ranked first in the country and seventeen straight wins, the most in school history...how can we be thinking of next year? I never want football season to end, especially this year. In truth I think this is my favorite week of the year. Yep, for me more than Christmas. The kids are gone raising their own children and the holiday present I want is a victory over those folks in silver britches with the red and black jerseys.

Now the down side. We (the Gators) have a lot on the line, the Dogs? Not so much. The Bulldogs would like nothing better than to ruin our season. I am confident that we are the far superior team but I have seen a lot of these games in Jacksonville and not all come out as expected. The older fans, like myself, know that you cannot be certain of the outcome. There is way too much emotion on the line. A stadium evenly divided with forty five thousand football fanatics on each side, teams fired up with memories of past humiliations, it is an electric atmosphere. I can't wait. Just walking through the thousands of fans in RV"s, tents, and smelling the barbecue and hearing the (mostly good-natured) verbal jousting is great fun. With all the rides, flags and team colors, it seems more than a college football game. It is more a combination of a State Fair, October Fest, and a maybe, a medieval jousting match.

Yes indeed, it is Florida Georgia weekend and as Michael Buffer says "LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE!"

From a distance it looked like beer.

This picture was taken in the Joshua Tree National Park the day after Florida defeated Ohio State in the 2006 National NCAA National Football championship. The park has an amazing variety of plant life and animals. Every curve you round appears to be a completely different landscape. Some of the larger boulder strewn fields will remind you of pictures taken on the moon, then around the next corner there are acres of white, onyx, crystalline rocks with pointed spines. The Joshua tree, for which the park is named, is an eerily beautiful plant growing almost straight up with only the top portion having what appears to be a combination of Spanish bayonets and fronds. We were there at sunset and all around us some of the distant mountains seemed to turn blue as the sun was setting behind them. While others still in the fading sunlight, were orange and red. All in all, it was a beautiful afternoon and evening.

I had went there to see the site where Gram Parsons was cremated. What a great story! Gram Parsons was, and is, an icon in Country/Rock music history. In the beginning he was a solo act. Later he played with the Burrito Brothers and the Byrds. He wrote some amazing songs and more importantly he discovered another music legend, the "Gray Goddess" Ms. Emmylou Harris. Rumor is they were involved romantically, but in any case they recorded some wonderful tunes together. Gram and his manager loved the Joshua Tree Park and made a covenant that which ever died first, the other would bring his body to a location in the park and cremate the remains in the park they both loved.

Little did they know how soon their pact would be tested. Gram died a few months later in his mid twenties. His manager got an early morning call from a distressed girl that awakened to find Parsons dead in her bed. The best bet was a rough night of booze, cocaine and sex overwhelmed his heart. Anyhow by the time the manager reached the hotel the body had been picked up and was at the Los Angles Airport awaiting a flight to Louisiana for burial. To make a long story a bit shorter, the manager rented a hearse from a hippie commune and he and one of the members drove to airport and pretended to be transporting the body to the plane waiting on the tarmac. After stealing the body,they carried it to the agreed upon spot in the park. His manager soaked the coffin in gasoline and burned it. Later, the manager said there was a hell of a secondary explosion. He said, "We failed to allow for the amount of alcohol Gram still had in his body." Is that a great story or what? A few years ago they released a movie entitled "Grand Theft Parsons." If you haven't seen it, check it out.

I talked with an old and dear friend of mine today. He and I have stories we can only tell in each others presence. Without our cross verification, no one would believe most of them. Come to think of it, even with our attesting to the truthfulness, a lot of folks still do not believe us. He reminded me of one time we were going to the races at Sebring. My wife had strenuously objected to my going, I seem to recall something about "if you go I will kill you" or something like that. Anyhow, we were driving toward the highway and suddenly a car came driving across a grassy median and thru a row of shrubbery headed straight for my new corvette. Luckily the Vette was nimble and we managed to avoid the wife attempting to carry through on her threat. I don't remember much of that weekend or any other time we were at the twelve hours of Sebring. We wre young and in our natural prime and we did have some times. There were four of us that ran together, Wayne, Floyd, Lee and myself. Only Lee and I are left, Floyd and Wayne left this world far too soon. Neither of them saw sixty, so you can imagine how surprised I am to still be here.

My friend, Lee Simmons was a marine at the siege of Khe Sahn, we were air traffic controllers together in Miami before the PATCO strike and in San Juan when we were rehired. I was the Best Man at his wedding in Puerto Rico, (an event that deserves it's own story) Suffice it to say the entire ceremony was in Spanish and at that time Lee only spoke English. After the vows were over, I said "Hell Lee, you don't know if you are married or have reenlisted in the Marine Corp." We have been friends for almost 40 years. It was good to talk to you today, and no I am not going to tell the New Orleans story. Yet.

Messing with Perfection

This beautiful football weekend was the first time I wished I had the Musstang back. What a glorious time for a convertible. I know the front spoiler was too low to the ground, the motor's rumble a bit too loud and I do prefer an automatic transmission. (I know, I know, I am old) But on a campus in Late October, there are worse things than having the top back on a Rousch Racing designed, Red Mustang.

Saturday night in Starkville was a great college football atmosphere. Mississippi State has made numerous improvements to their stadium since my last visit in 2004. They have the largest and best video screen that I have ever seen. Crystal clear and a great sound system. Before our game they had the Tennessee vs Alabama game on. What a great idea, the fans can come early, get to their seats and watch another SEC football game. Great idea.

The game itself? Didn't like it so much cosmetically, but hey, it is a conference road win. Every Gator fan knows how tough it is in this league to go into another team's house and beat them. All in all, it is great to be seventeen and zero. The State fans were fired up and ready. As an aside, I still do not know how they are permitted to bring in those damned cow bells. I mean they are thousands of them and they are deafening. Artificial noise makers are banned by the Southeastern conference, so what is up with that? They say tradition, but I say to hell with that. What if our tradition was to bring air horns and when the other team had the ball thirty or forty thousand people blew their horns? Think the commissioner would permit it? Me neither. And if you think they are loud in a stadium, let some drunken fans ring them on a bus to the game. Deafening, painfully deafening.

Ya'll all watched the game so I am not going to try and make this a sports column. I will leave that to the nay-sayers at the Gainesville Sun. Just a thought on Tim Tebow, the finest college football player to ever strap on a helmet. I believe Tim came to Florida a better quarterback than he is now. Every attempt to change him has been counter-productive. The young man was the leading passer in the history of Florida high school football. As a sophomore at Florida, he lead the nation in college football passing efficiency. Put simply, I believe he has been over-coached. My thought is this; Coaches have a preconceived idea of what constitutes good passing mechanics and exactly how a quarterback should throw. However,Tim Tebow is a once in a lifetime player with unique physical gifts. He can make unbelievable throws because of his superior physical gifts. A coach looks and say if he can do that using unorthodox methods, what could he do if utilized "good passing" technique? The answer, he doesn't do as well. The attempted alterations and changes to his natural motion is simply too much to think about. He was far better when he was just reacting and having fun. If he were my son, I would say "Tim, just go play forget everything else and just be yourself." Because when he is just Tim Tebow...he is simply the best that has ever played the game.

Memories of Starkville circa 2004

Now the question is this...how shaky is my resolve that Florida will win tomorrow's game? I was last here for the Ron Zook debacle. You remember, when our Gators lost to the same team that had that same year been beaten by the Division II Maine Black Bears? Not Grizzlies, not Polar Bears but Black Bears? During the morning, while driving to the game, I had been informed of the result of my ill fated candidacy for the National Presidency of our Union, I lost by thirty seven votes. The young man that called me with the election results started our conversation by saying, "Larry, great news! you carried the Southern Region by a 7 to 1 margin and had a landslide win in the Alaskan Region." I said, knowing full well I was not talking to the sharpest knife in the drawer, "So I won?" He said "No, She did by 37 votes." Alas, my hopes for doing far less work, with even more time off and for more money were dashed. What, you thought I was altruistic?

Arriving in Starkville that year we found the fan base of Mississippi State resigned for the coming beat down. A common refrain from the wearers of the Maroon was " Hey, please take it easy on us, save something for Georgia." And while we were magnanimous in our verbal responses, inwardly we were confident that Custer had came out better at Little Big Horn than their team would with the Mighty Gators. Didn't quite work out like that, I left that Stadium as depressed and angry as I can remember. However, after the game our coach, the aforementioned Mr. Zook, on his post-game radio show took my anger up a notch or two when he said "I am proud of our team they did everything I asked them to do." I was livid, almost screaming at the radio, "Did you ask them to lose? huh Ron, did you ask them to lose?" But then I remembered a bit of poetry..."Be still my heart and cease repining, behind yon cloud, the sun is still shining. Some days must be cold and dark and dreary." The sun was indeed about to Shine, on Monday Zook was fired, later Coach Meyer accepted the Florida job over an offer from Notre Dame and all was soon to be well in Gator Nation.

BBQ Joints and Alligator Farms

Can anyone tell me why there is never an alligator farm that is the biggest in the State? or City? or the South? Why is every damned one of them the "Biggest in the whole wide World? Think about it. While you're at it, why is every BBQ joint posting awards and reviews claiming they have the World's best BBQ? I mean if you have the best BBQ in Mississippi, ain't that pretty darn good? But noooo! it has to be the best in the world. Just something else to drive me closer to the edge.

We tried to end run the weather today by driving North to Atlanta, then I-20 to Birmingham and through Tuscaloosa to our hotel in Columbus, Mississippi. For the most part it worked but added a Little more than an hour to the trip. We encountered light rain leaving Atlanta and then about twenty miles West of Atlanta it turned into a downpour. Fortunately, it only lasted for about an hour and more fortunately that wasn't my segment to drive. Timing folks, gotta have it. I thought all in all her driving was admirable and I am sure my finger nails will grow back.

Anyone remember the song "Am I Fool Number One"? The opening lyrics went something like, am I fool number one or fool number two? Well, in traffic I changed the lyrics to "Are you moron number one? or moron number two?" How many other drivers have been killed by fools like you? I know the number is far from being small, but until now, you are the biggest moron of all. (close quotes with apologies to Brenda Lee) That directly reflects my opinion of an ever growing number of drivers with whom I unwillingly share the road. I don't have time to go into all of the stunts, hair raising tactics and just plain stupid episodes of driving we encountered on this trip. Suffice it to say that I called 911 to report a drunken driver on I-75 before we were twenty five miles from home. When he continued to swerve from the right shoulder to the left median, I thought "why the poor man must be ill." Jeannie said that what I actually said lets call the police before this damned drunk kills us. (expletives deleted)

Anyhow we made it here and checked in without any problems. In the lobby we met a guy from Hattisburg, Mississippi, he is a huge Gator fan. He is here with his wife and three young sons. He told one son, who appeared to be about six years old, to show us what you do when you meet another Gator fan. The boy began doing the Gator chomp. It is sad that as football grows more and more expensive colleges are pricing many families out of the opportunity to see their teams play. It may turn out to be a marketing mistake to disregard cultivating the next generation of fans and boosters.

We ate at a local landmark, "Little Dooey's BBQ" Great food, every bit as good as advertised. Jeannie had catfish and hush puppies, I of course, judging by the name of the place, had pulled pork. The sign said BBQ, right? Everything, even the catfish was great. Hey wait a minute, did I say as good as advertised? I take it back, it was really, really good but not the best in the entire World. But definitely real good.

Today is the pre-travel day before the eight and one half hour trip to beautiful Starkville, Mississippi. What in hell were their city fathers or founders thinking when they named the place Starkville? Talk about a tough place to recruit football players. How they get a kid to come there instead of Gainesville, Baton Rouge, Columbia, Nashville or Athens is beyond me. It is not near anything and has nothing to recommend it to a testosterone filled eighteen year old boy looking for adventure. Well, there are the co-eds. Mississippi has produced some striking young ladies and as I remember beautiful girls are fairly important to young men. (and old men)or so I have heard.

We will leave around eight in the morning. The question is do I follow mapquest and go through Alabama via Montgomery and then West or do I choose the slightly longer route via Atlanta and Birmingham. Google tells me the Atlanta route has far better highways but I am yet to drive I-75 when construction wasn't a significant impediment. What has the world came to? I am actually debating over two navigation systems that I did not know existed a few short years ago. Then, of course, I can simply type the address of the motel in the GPS and follow the instructions. Heavy rain is forecast along the whole route.

Enough of the travel talk. Oh and by the way, the good looking baby in the picture is my first Great-Grandchild. Am I proud? You bet I am. My son, the baby's poppa, tells me I should be proud because without me none of this would have been possible. I believe that my dad, his dad and his dad's dad live on through all of the children, grand children and now great a grand child. My dad died in Viet Nam before he ever saw his grand children. It is left to me to also look for him. He would be proud of them and they of him.

A letter to my oldest friend

June 19, 2008

1:50 PM

Response to Earl Vaughn's E-Mail



Earl,



I appreciate the music; I have been a big Tom T. Hall fan for a long time. I heard him once say that his middle initial "T" was an abbreviation of his middle name which was also Tom. Thus, his name was Tom Tom Hall, I don't know if it is true or not, but if it's not, it oughta be.

You mentioned that I seem unhappy, or to be more precise, "disgruntled." Disgruntled is probably too mild a term to describe my feelings about the world in general. The adjective I would pick is cynical, followed closely by amused resignation.

With all my heart I believe the Country is on the wane but the bright side is the Country will become what the people that wanted change deserve. Better them than me, and thankfully it will be them.



One of the reasons that I see little hope for us is based somewhat upon my years as a Human Resources Director. One of the first positions I had was in charge of Broward County employee testing; The United States Justice Department required that our entire county workforce be balanced. In other words we had to have the same percentages of minorities and women as the county. To accomplish this requirement we had to adjust written test scores based solely on ethnicity and/or gender. Any written or physical test which were given, had to have the same number of eligible minority or female applicants as the number of white males who passed the test.

We had to establish passing points for all written tests based upon the results for each minority or female group and then scale all of that particular group's scores accordingly. This system is called “test weighting.” IN order to have a sufficent number of minorities I once had to set a passing point at 38 percentile for one group and 86 percentile for another group taking the exact same test. Are you still following this? Hence, a person making an actual score of 39 would pass with an adjusted score of 74. The white males, with far higher grades, may have a person make an actual score of 85 percent but because of a “weighted” score, fail the exact same test. In other words the white guy answered more than twice as many questions correctly as did his minority counterpart. Yet, the white male failed and the minority passed. Neat system? you bet, fair? No way.

After all of the tests were scored, we ranked candidates by their adjusted or “weighted” scores and selected police officer and firefighter candidates based upon those scores. No one taking the tests was ever told the tests were adjusted because it would "appear" that our testing system was "unfair" and worse, it would indicate that some groups scored less well than other groups.

Stay with me a second, lets just suppose that the selection process for athletics were conducted in a similar fashion. For example, if I ran a hundred yard dash in twenty seconds, under test weighting, the timer would tell me I ran it in ten seconds. Then another person, from a different ethnic group, runs the same distance in nine seconds but the timer would tell that person that their time was twenty five seconds. We would all wonder why our team was so slow when our recorded times were so fast.

I think most folks would agree that it would be silly and dishonest to lie to people about their performance, particularly in something as trite as athletic competition. But, if that is true, why does it make any sense to use weighted testing when selecting those involved in life and death professions?

As an aside, all of us were “astounded” when many of the candidates, with artificially inflated scores, later had problems in performing their assigned job tasks. It was even more inexplicable given how well they had performed on their entry level examinations.



The United States Department of Justice mandated this testing practice to enable employers to meet established goals, not quotas. It is a mantra in human resources that thou shall not use the word quotas, it is far too insensitive. The goal was to have a workforce that reflected the racial makeup of our county. Kind of like the "ethnic balance" of the workforce in the National Basketball Association huh? A quota is illegal, a goal is not, unless, alas you fail to meet the goal. In our case, the Federal fine for failing to meet the goal would have been $50,000 per week. A few years later the Justice Department was sued by a white job applicant who claimed discrimination based upon race. Only then did the Justice Department discover that employers routinely used test weighting in employee selection. This was the same Justice Department that had not only designed the system, but also went into federal court and mandated that it be implemented. Now their story became, and I quote, “We are dismayed, weighted testing is blatantly unfair and we demand this outrage be stopped.” With a giant sigh of relief employers complied.

Heck, it is a lot easier to score a test once and not have to re score them using the Justice Department formula to weight the scores. Subsequently President Clinton came into office with his new Attorney General, the ever lovely Janet Reno, the system was reinstated. Luckily they changed the name, it was no longer weighted testing, it became "enhanced testing." Cynical? Why on earth would I be cynical?

I mean pick a football team based on "weighted" forty yard dash times, weights lifted, and disregard previous work experience and go compete against those who use the traditional method of player selection. Oh, and then your team must be fifty percent women, eighty percent white, twenty percent Latino and have disabled people. Think you will win many games? Me either, but that is the current American work place. Wonder why the Chinese and every other civilized country is beating our brains out in world trade and commerce? Could it be? No that is not politically correct, and we can't ever be insensitive, even when it is God's own truth.



But to give the devil his due, the testing process worked splendidly in Miami. They only had 83 police officers indicted for drug trafficking, racketeering and murder. For that particular group, all entry level testing had been suspended. You see Miami also needed to balance the work force. In their case the reason the testing was suspended was simple. The written tests were in English. Couldn't do background checks, too many minorities tended to have criminal records. Fortunately for the citizens of South Florida, the criminal court system had interpreters.

When I was rehired to be an air traffic controller in 1998, I had a chance to see the impact on my profession, air traffic controller. Disastrous is not too strong a term. People controlling traffic who had never flown, could literally not tell a Piper Cherokee from a C141 Star lifter and some had failed radar training three or more times.



Alright, enough of this whining about the world according to Larry. Things I like in no particular order are; college football, San Francisco, New Orleans and leaving Puerto Rico.



Among the things I love are; lyrics by Kris Kristofferson, songs by the Eagles and Credence, my friends, family, cold draft beer, my former job as an air traffic controller and leaving Puerto Rico.



Actually, I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I have survived a lifetime of abusing my body and whatever is left of my mind. I have had a multiple cardiac by-pass operation. I have been blessed by the friendship and love of so many wonderful people. I have seen things I never even knew how to dream about. With my own eyes I have seen my children, grandchildren and hopefully soon, my first great grandchild. I have seen an Alaskan volcano erupt, seen and felt the earth move in a quake. I have seen just how vodka clear water can be over coral reefs in the Virgin Islands. I have seen bullfights in Madrid, skied mountains in Colorado, fished for Salmon in Alaska, and the sunset in Key West. I lived to see my team, the Florida Gators, win a college football championship, back to back National championships in basketball, Muhammad Ali fight and Hank Aaron hit home runs. I have sat in Nashville bars and heard country music like it was meant to be sung and I have stood in the Ryman auditorium, the Mother Church of Country Music and heard Vince Gill sing. I even married the first girl I ever loved, although it did take awhile. And how did that turn out? Moving right along, did I mention, I once saw Puerto Rico fade in the distance



I don't think that I am actually all that angry. Maybe I am a bit like the quotation on Robert Frost's tombstone, "I seem to have had a lover's quarrel with the world."


Your pal,

Larry.

Winning and losing

One of the questions I ask myself about this time every year is whether or not I am going to give up following college football. I am serious, really I mean it. For a long time I have wondered if I hate seeing my team lose more than I enjoy them winning. I already recognize that I have an adolescent passion for the game. More specifically, for the team I follow, the Florida Gators. I have always lacked perspective on most things. I am impulsive and I tend to be overly controlling and just a tad obsessive. From the crib forward, I have been this way, sometimes it is helpful, usually it is not. As someone once said to me, "Son, moderation ain't your high suit."

For a passionate fan, football, or any other spectator sport, is the antithesis of what a control freak really wants. I mean in my heart I know the players on the field want to win far more than me. But when I am caught up in the moment, I think that fumbles are meant to cause me personal dismay and interceptions are a deliberate stab in my heart. Yesterday, Florida played Arkansas. Florida was on the receiving end of six sacks and we lost four fumbles inside the opponent's twenty yard line. Based upon my view of the game as being intensely personal, every time our quarterback went down I blamed an offensive lineman for deliberately blowing his blocking assignment for the sole purpose of heaping more misery on me. The fumbles cut up my heart more than the six way cardiac bypass I had in Puerto Rico. I left the game physically and emotionally drained. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon. So much energy expended, so much tension and worry and for what? Watching eighteen to twenty year old young men play a child's game? All that money, time and emotion in a situation over which I have zero control of the outcome? Maybe it is time to give it up. Did I mention we won? Yep, came back and kicked a field goal with nine seconds remaining in the game. Did I also say we are undefeated? Or that we have the longest winning streak in America? See what I mean, I focus on the negative and glide right by any contrary information that might make me rethink my belief that the game is played only for me. The other ninety thousand fans are merely extras in my movie and are no more relevant than background noise. Egocentric? You decide.

I like Kris Kristofferson

Silver (The Hunger)


Silver was a rounder with a wicked reputation
words were his magic and his madness rolled in one

It's said he charmed the fairest hearts of this world's fairest maidens
Quick as silver mercury and slippery as a song

Winding like a river through a thirsty world of strangers
Carving out a legend in a dream-forsaken land

Silver took his pleasures just as freely as he gave them'
Cause hungry eyes weren't quick enough for Silver's flashing hands

Then once upon escaping from the world of silk and shadows
Suddenly growin' sicker of the secrets and the shame

He stumbled onto something real that beckoned like a candle
And never lookin' backwards, he surrendered to the flame

Silver moved instinctively within her soft defenses
Soon unfolding mysteries he'd never seen before

And wakening an ancient need, she slipped inside his senses
And Silver took it easy as the closing of a door

Then soon he touched the secret fears she'd hidden with her sorrows
Darker than her raven hair and deeper than her eyes

And he dared to try to lead her to the sunlight from her shadows
Following the line between her laughter and her lies

But Silver left his magic with the legend he'd abandoned
Love had stripped him naked of illusion and it's charms

Then one long night her changing mind took kindly to a stranger
And morning found her moving in the golden stranger's arms

Because Hunger, is the surface, of a darkened pool of sadness
Silver pale reflection of a deeper need below

Mystery and magic are the holy forms of madness
Sacred as the ecstasy that slumbers in your soul

Silver stared in silence at the tangled scene before him
Time was burning frozen in the oceans of his eyes

And sadly turning backwards to the world that he'd forsaken
He donned the shining mantle of deception and disguise

Slowly, with the patience born of silent desperation
Silver worked his way into the darkness of her mind

Weaving through her conscience like a chance she might have taken
Sadder than the shadows of the love she'll never find

And Silver's spell was stronger than the softly smiling stranger
Whose star was burning smaller in the naked light of day

And Silver took her hand again, a wiser man, but sadder
Ready for the stranger who would steal her love away

Because Hunger, is the surface, of a darkened pool of sadness
Silver pale reflection of a deeper need below

Mystery and magic are the holy forms of madness
Sworn to free the ecstasy that slumbers in your soul

Gators win the game finally

It is two in the morning, we had a great time at the game. Throughout the evening the skies were dark and threatening, it looked as if we were in for torrents of rain but amazingly just a few sprinkles. I am glad because guess who left the ponchos back in Gainesville? Here is a hint, it wasn't Jeannie. We have had a wonderful time and I want to tell you about some of the funnier events but it will have to be tomorrow. Most importantly the Gators have played five games and we (the mighty Florida Gators) are undefeated. In the world of college football fans that is what matters. Adios, no mas...no mas...no mas Buenos Noches all.

Here come the National Champions

La Vie est Bonne

I know that everyone says a line outside of a restaurant portends good things to come. If the place is so busy that there is a long, slow moving line, the food served must be good. Okay, I get it. However, standing in line is one of my least favorite things. Come to think of it, I have never met anyone who said standing in line was one of their favorite things. I am sure they are out there. Hell, I even met a lady that was a big fan of Richard Simmons. Richard Simmons? She loved him, thought he was funny and could not get enough of the ingratiating little pest. I never again asked her another question, nor did I ever turn my back on her, just a little too scary and a little too far out there in the infinite. But, I digress.

Meanwhile back in line at Mother's Restaurant on this specific hot and muggy early Autumn night, we hear the first the low rumble of thunder, then feel the initial drops of rain as they began to fall. We are outside, there is a small covered porch where the first three or four people in line are huddled. When the rain begins, the original four people on the porch become eight or nine. All crammed together and trying to obtain some part of the small roof to protect them from what was a rapidly approaching line of thunderstorms. Then it gets better, the diners inside having completed their meals, (lucky bastards) come out onto the same tiny porch. They linger there while trying to decide whether to run to their cars or to return inside and wait out the rain. I don't care what you do, but pick one! Pandomonium is the order of the day. To quote our beloved leader, "never waste a crisis." In all of the confusion we slip inside with the diners that are returning to sit out the rain. Inside and dry at last, I look out through the glass of the door at the poor wretches still stranded outside subject to a driving, wind blown rain. Another prime example of survival of the fittest, or in my case, survival of the fattest.

We ordered Crawfish Etouffee, Fille Gumbo and a house Po-Boy sandwich. I learned several things, first Etouffee literally means "smothered." The vegetables are smothered in onions, okra and a sea food stock, which is ever so slowly reduced down to a roux. Rice and crawfish are added and New Orleans voodoo does the rest. Thats the best I can do, want more? Try Justin Wilson, wait a minute, that Cajun is dead. Oh well, then it is Google, Food Channel and ultimate Etouffee. Enough about food, everything was wonderful, more importantly Jeannie was estatic about the entire meal. Sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone, I think I will. We are back in the room. New Orleans on a Friday night and I am in my room and more content than I can ever recall. The title of this post is wrong it should be, La vie est magnifique!

Outbound to New Orleans

"Good Morning John,". "Hi Larry, are you on the road? I said, "Yep, we are about eighty miles from Gainesville." John Responded, "I just got off the phone with my brother Randy, his flight was cancelled due to weather and he is driving from Dallas to Baton Rouge." I had this telephone conversation with my friend John Morgan this morning. He was in Gainesville in his truck, I was on I-10 headed West for New Orleans and then on to Baton Rouge. Earlier John had spoken with his brother in the Dallas airport and learned of the flight cancellation. What struck me about this was how common it has become for us to be able to instantly communicate with anyone anywhere. I know I am old but damn it, it is still astounding . A phone smaller than a book of matches and not only can you talk, you can send pictures, movies, hell I don't know what else. Push a button and see it now. Magic it has to be magic.

We made it to New Orleans around four o'clock our time. Luckily we missed most of the rush hour traffic. For those of you familiar with New Orleans, we are staying about a mile from the Cafe Du Monde and Jackson Square. (Tomorrow I will try to post some pictures.) The Hilton where we are staying is an absolute bear to find. It is down a two way, single lane street with cars parking on both sides of the byway. You hide behind the parked cars and wait until the head-on traffic passes, then you seize the right of way and hope the other drivers extend you the same courtesy. We waited fifteen minutes while cars streamed through in the opposite direction. Madness, pure madness but having lived in Puerto Rico, I know sometimes all there is left to do is to laugh. I tried my best to see the humor in all of it....but I enjoyed swearing much more.

Alright, tonight we are off to a local eatery that has been recognized as having the very best Etoufee in America. The New York Times food critic said it should be a historical landmark and no one should be able to serve Cajun food that has not first eaten at "Mother's." Those of you that read our cross country blog this summer will remember that we have eaten here before. Unfortunately we did not know of their reputation for Etoufee. Worse yet, I talked Jeannie out of ordering it in favor of another dish. The food was exceptional. Indeed, everything was peaches and cream until we returned home and she watched the Travel Channel. They had visited several cities around the world each known for exquisite cuisine. They narrowed the dozens of location visited to five finalists. They then selected each establishment's signature offering. Yes indeed, when the announcer said the only restaurant in the South making the list was "Mother's Cafe" in New Orleans, we both sat up. You know how that is right? Hey look, we have been there! The feeling of goodwill lasted for about ten seconds, Then the food critic said to go there and not eat their Etoufee was criminal. Jeannie looked at me, and with that look I knew we were going back. And here we are.

South Louisiana

I first went to New Orleans forty eight years ago. By going to New Orleans, I was living the dream of many young men of my generation. Since first learning to read I had wanted to visit this den of decadence. Man alive! Bourbon Street, Strippers, Dixie Land Jazz, Strippers, famous saloons Like "Pat O'Brien's", Strippers, Cajun food and did I mention.... STRIPPERS!!! Keep in mind I was eighteen years old and if I didn't think about girls at least twenty three hours a day, it was either a slow day or football season. How was my very first visit to the Crescent City? Truthfully, I don't remember very much. I do remember being sick, I mean multi-colored, projectile vomiting sick. So in one of the worlds best cities for dining what was my very first taste of New Orleans cuisine. Sadly, it consisted of a chili dog purchased from a cart on Bourbon Street. Maybe that is what made me sick, or it might have been the booze? Nah, it was the hot dog. I mean I only drank a couple of Zombies, three Hurricanes, a Singapore Sling and a lot of beer. How could that have made me ill? Hmm...should I rethink almost five decades of blaming the chili dog ? No, I will stay with my life time habit of often being wrong, but never uncertain.

Many years later I went to the New Orleans Heritage and Jazz Festival. If you haven't been to this celebration, make plans to go. It is held over two weekends in late April or May. There are more than a dozen stages featuring headline musical talent. The performers are diverse and every genre of music is represented. From Willie Nelson, to top flight Reggae artists, there are gospel choirs, the Neville Brothers, the elite of jazz musicians, and the best of Nashville singers, all are a part of this phenomenal festival. As good as the music is, it may be topped by the food. Restaurants and caterers from all over the country bring their talents to this show. For me, it all about having the chance to eat so much exceptional Cajun food. You can hurt yourself eating and I always set out to do just that. Do not ask if they serve alcohol, I already said it was a New Orleans festival. If there are any businesses in Louisiana that do not sell alcohol, I have yet to run across them. To tell you what an impression the food made on us, I ate in a tent set up by Hebert's restaurant. (the name is pronounced as A-Bears) The main business is located in Houma, Louisiana. When the festival ended I went to Houma and stayed for a week. I ate in Hebert's every day and evening. On Friday nights and all day Saturday they have a Zydeco band and a party as only Cajuns can throw them. It was a blast. My first visit to Houma was over ten years ago, I have gone back almost every year since.

There is just something about all of South Louisiana that I love. It is beyond the partying, the wonderful food and the unique accents. There is great beauty there and an underlying peacefulness that speaks to my soul. On one of our trips I visited an open-air pavilion under a group of cypress trees. The pavilion had been converted to a local bar. It was only about a hundred yards from the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. This is as deep South as it gets. The inland waters of the Gulf were a translucent, smoky green. A local at the bar told me it was from floating seaweed. Looking further out I could see where the water changed to a dark blue. There were brown pelicans diving along an off shore sandbar. I sure hope they had better luck fishing that day than I did. Drinking ice cold Dixie beer and listening to the accent of folks who are more at home in their version of the French language than English made for a memorable afternoon. For that day it was great to just listen to the sea breeze blow through the hanging Spanish moss, watch the water and just enjoy being alive. Maybe that is what the bayou country of Louisiana is to me. A place where time seems to slow down and everything smooths out.

Enough already, On Saturday my fondness for Louisiana disappears. Beat LSU like a drum! Go Gators!

Football and passion

The football season really warms up this week. The mighty Gators go to beard the Tigers in their den. Two years ago we were in Baton Rouge for the game and the crowd was unbelievable. Over twenty thousand people who were without tickets were there just to party. The Cajuns started drinking about nine in the morning for an eight PM kickoff. We rolled in about seven in the evening and walked around just observing the crowd. Lots of drunken revelers wearing the Purple and Gold, cooking gumbo and screaming various versions of their fight song, "Hold that Tiger." They have a huge Bengal Tiger as a mascot. They have constructed an elaborate facility for him that rivals any thing you would find in the San Diego Zoo or Busch Gardens. It is really first class. Mike the tiger lives well. When the game started, Florida won three and a half quarters of that game, we absolutely dominated them but the game is a full four quarters and when it mattered LSU delivered. On the final drive five times they went for it on fourth and short and all five times they made it work. Lucky or good? Doesn't matter they won, and went on to win the National Championship. After the game we got on the local "express bus" and it did not move for three hours. We reached our hotel room after four in the morning. Are these out of town football trips fun or what?

The plan is to leave Friday morning and drive to New Orleans. Dinner in the Crescent City is always a treat and we are looking forward to great food. New Orleans is a city in decay, Hurricane Katrina made it worse but the City has been caught in a downward spiral for several years. It is a truly dangerous place and you need to always be aware of your surroundings. Having said all of that, it is one of only a handful of cities that is truly distinctive. San Francisco, Key West, Santa Fe and one or two others are true "one of a kind places." Most American cities are so similar that if you unexpectedly woke up in most of them, you would have to ask where you were. New Orleans does not fit the category of cookie cutter towns, it has soul. It is a unique combination of cultures and people. New Orleans has always reminded me of an aging prostitute wearing heavy make up but with the age and mileage lines showing through. I began a love affair with New Orleans almost fifty years ago, but I have reluctantly concluded that I may love my memories of what she was more than the present reality. I hope not, I need my youthful view of "the City that Care Forgot." Just another romantic illusion? probably, but hey, I am full of those.

We are debating whether to remain in New Orleans for the weekend or to go deep into Cajun country over near New Iberia or Houma. We can stay in the city and take a bus with the New Orleans Gator club to and from the game. The other alternative is to get rooms further South into the bayous but closer to the stadium. If we had more time I would definitely spend it in the smaller Cajun towns. You have to experience them to believe it. The Zydeco music, Cajun food and the absolute devotion to having a good time is unmatched. There are many locations where people start cooking and drinking well before the noon hour. They have a band outdoors under giant oak trees and another group inside, all ages from the elderly to toddlers are up dancing to the music made by guitars, wash boards and squeeze boxes. Man do I love it! Those French descendants know something about the value of a good time that too many of us have forgotten.

No matter, you cannot go to that part of the world and not enjoy yourself. If you do, check your pulse.

Shot through the heart

Recently I heard the "the Single Bullet Theory" and for those of you of my generation, no it has nothing to do with the Kennedy Assassination. It has to do with the love of your life. The theory is that everyone has one person out there. A single bullet if you will. And, if you are lucky in life you get to meet that person. And, once you do, you are shot through the heart, and there is nobody else. No matter what happens-death, divorce, infidelity, whatever,-nobody else can ever come close. That is the single bullet theory.

Now it is your turn, What do you think, try to answer as if no one else will ever read your response, otherwise the question and discussion are fatally flawed. Honesty is a hard thing, for me, sometimes damned near impossible. I know that my response to the question has changed over the years. After at least a couple of people tell me what they think, I will tell you my opinion.

I don't know what if any direction I am going to go on the Blog. Several of you have asked that I write more often, some have suggested I not write at all. I am going to try to write several times a week on whatever interest me at the time, I need your feedback, let me know how I am doing and what you think. Who knows, I might even pay attention, but no promises.