I feel a bit foolish about it now, but I'm one of the people who voted for you and believed you when you said you were going to go about things differently if you were elected. That you were going to try to fundamentally change the way business is done in Washington. I knew it would be difficult--hell, I knew it would be virtually impossible. But I thought you were going to try.
But here we are, on Day 36 of the BP oil spill (although why we keep calling a hole in the ground that has continuously spewed millions of gallons of oil into the Gulf thus far a "spill" is beyond me). Day 36, and BP is still in charge. Day 36, and BP still gets to call the shots on which dispersant is used, regardless of whether it's found to be toxic, regardless of whether its use has been banned in the UK, regardless of whether or not we, the residents of the Gulf Coast, want our waters turned into a science experiment.
Here we are, on Day 36, while BP and the Coast Guard are allowed to threaten reporters with arrest for trying to cover the story. Day 36, and BP boats have been allowed to sit by idly, despite repeated requests for help from local officials, while oil flows into Barataria Bay.
Here we are on Day 36, and BP is just now getting around to trying the "top kill" method to shut down the well. People down here would really like to know why it took 36 days to get to this point.
5.26.2010
5.25.2010
Day 35
BP Chief Executive Tony Hayward tells journalists to step back as he walks along Fourchon Beach in Port Fourchon on Monday. (Patrick Semansky/The Associated Press)
Pressure to Save Time, Money may have Contributed to Oil Disaster
[F]ive weeks after the Deepwater Horizon blowout that triggered the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, there is mounting attention being paid to whether concerns about money created an atmosphere of haste that--even more than broken gadgets, buckling cement or faulty plans--may have led to the disaster.
Even before the Deepwater Horizon drilling rig went down in flames, BP's ill-fated exploration well in the Gulf of Mexico's underwater Mississippi Canyon had been consuming time and burning through money.
5.22.2010
Dear Conservatives....
I must admit, I don't get it. I'm friends with lots of you. I'm family with many of you. I love you. But I just don't get it. This post is going to piss you off--but if you can stand it, try reading another point of view.
Why were the eight years of the Bush administration okay and now, all of a sudden, you're in such dire fear of our country falling apart? Are you aware of how concerned we lefties were during the Bush administration? What, really, has Obama done so far to make you fear that you're going to lose your rights to bear arms? (By the way, I say this as a woman with a pistol in the top shelf of my closet, who also voted for Obama. ) Yes, I'm a progressive who also believes in the right to bear arms; although as I've said before, I think we're carrying it a bit too far these days. Is it really an infringement on your Constitutional liberties not to be able to buy a semi-automatic rifle? Do you really need that to kill a deer?
Why were the eight years of the Bush administration okay and now, all of a sudden, you're in such dire fear of our country falling apart? Are you aware of how concerned we lefties were during the Bush administration? What, really, has Obama done so far to make you fear that you're going to lose your rights to bear arms? (By the way, I say this as a woman with a pistol in the top shelf of my closet, who also voted for Obama. ) Yes, I'm a progressive who also believes in the right to bear arms; although as I've said before, I think we're carrying it a bit too far these days. Is it really an infringement on your Constitutional liberties not to be able to buy a semi-automatic rifle? Do you really need that to kill a deer?
Two for One
After watching the latest episode of Treme last night, I can't decide which was more disconcerting--having seen someone I know dressed up as a giant sperm* during the real Krewe du Vieux parade of 2006 or seeing someone I know dressed up as a giant sperm* for the re-enactment of the 2006 KdV parade for Treme. Either way, the "I salute you, Ashley Morris" line and the inclusion of his "Buy Us Back, Chirac" mime was a nice touch.
*I wonder how many hits the mention of the word sperm will bring to my site via the Google.
*I wonder how many hits the mention of the word sperm will bring to my site via the Google.
5.21.2010
Google Search of the Month
I know you all have been anxiously awaiting this month's installment. So without further ado, I give you "feder fucf gris." I don't know what it means, either. But I think it has something to do with Kevin Federline. Or porn.
Quadruple Points, Texas
Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, move to Texas.
Texas Board of Education Approves More Conservative Curriculum
Among other gems like now referring to the slave trade as the "Atlantic Triangular Trade," the Texas Board of Education will also now require that the U.S. government be referred to as a "constitutional republic" rather than as "democratic."
You morons. Were you jealous of Arizona or something?
Texas Board of Education Approves More Conservative Curriculum
Among other gems like now referring to the slave trade as the "Atlantic Triangular Trade," the Texas Board of Education will also now require that the U.S. government be referred to as a "constitutional republic" rather than as "democratic."
You morons. Were you jealous of Arizona or something?
Dear Mitch:
I, along with quite a few New Orleanians, I think, have a few reservations about your choice of Ronal Serpas for police chief. He may be a little too old-guardy, a little too entrenched in the way things were done before, without even getting into some of what's been unearthed regarding his days at the NOPD.
However, I would like to commend you for two excellent jobs well done, at least in my book, during your first couple of weeks in office.
First, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for getting rid of all of those ridiculous, annoying, "Our Recovery in Progress" signs that were spread throughout the city in what was obviously an attempt at nothing more than self-congratulatory PR for C. Ray, since those signs almost invariably spotlighted some minor public works project that had absolutely nothing to do with the aftermath of Katrina and the Federal Flood. Could anyone explain to me how minor sidewalk patching along Audubon Place helped the recovery effort in any way, shape or form? I realize, Mitch, that you may have just had these signs removed to replace C. Ray's name with yours. But I'm going to take you at your word that we're no longer going to say we're in the recovery phase and are now going to move on to the creation phase.
Secondly, I would really, really, really like to thank you for demanding an apology from this jackass. I'm sure the apology was forced by his boss and was in no way sincere, but still, what an ass. How can you live in New Orleans for six years and then spout that kind of ignorant crap, even if you DO work for Fox? Chris Myers, you unfeeling, racist f*ck, may you and your family never face a natural or man-made disaster and need empathy from others. I hope that there's a special form of karma awaiting you.
Anyway, thanks, Mitch.
Sincerely, ALM
However, I would like to commend you for two excellent jobs well done, at least in my book, during your first couple of weeks in office.
First, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for getting rid of all of those ridiculous, annoying, "Our Recovery in Progress" signs that were spread throughout the city in what was obviously an attempt at nothing more than self-congratulatory PR for C. Ray, since those signs almost invariably spotlighted some minor public works project that had absolutely nothing to do with the aftermath of Katrina and the Federal Flood. Could anyone explain to me how minor sidewalk patching along Audubon Place helped the recovery effort in any way, shape or form? I realize, Mitch, that you may have just had these signs removed to replace C. Ray's name with yours. But I'm going to take you at your word that we're no longer going to say we're in the recovery phase and are now going to move on to the creation phase.
Secondly, I would really, really, really like to thank you for demanding an apology from this jackass. I'm sure the apology was forced by his boss and was in no way sincere, but still, what an ass. How can you live in New Orleans for six years and then spout that kind of ignorant crap, even if you DO work for Fox? Chris Myers, you unfeeling, racist f*ck, may you and your family never face a natural or man-made disaster and need empathy from others. I hope that there's a special form of karma awaiting you.
Anyway, thanks, Mitch.
Sincerely, ALM
Deja Vu
"We will do what it takes. We will stay as long as it takes to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives."
President George W. Bush, September 15, 2005
"Your government will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes to stop this crisis."
President Barack Obama, May 3, 2010
President George W. Bush, September 15, 2005
"Your government will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes to stop this crisis."
President Barack Obama, May 3, 2010
5.20.2010
FU/BP
As a resident of Louisiana, I'm so sick about this oil spill that I can’t even begin to tell you.
BP is still sticking to its initial “guesstimate” that approximately 5,000 barrels a day of oil are spewing forth into the Gulf, despite numerous reports saying that the real amount of oil being released is more likely in the range of 56,000-80,000 barrels per day. Even if you go with the lower estimate of 56K barrels a day, that means more than 2.3 MILLION gallons. A day.
BP’s CEO, Tony Hayward, has had the gall to try to downplay the damage being caused to the Gulf. "The Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume," Hayward said.
But thanks to the “hot tap,” the smaller pipe that BP has shoved into the gaping pipe that is hemorrhaging oil, we’re saved, right? BP is proudly reporting today that the “hot tap” is now siphoning off 5,000 barrels of oil per day. However, as BP has maintained all along that only 5,000 gallons of oil a day have been leaking, and significant quantities of oil are STILL gushing out, this puts them in a bit of a quandary. You can watch a live feed of the oil leak here.
BP is still sticking to its initial “guesstimate” that approximately 5,000 barrels a day of oil are spewing forth into the Gulf, despite numerous reports saying that the real amount of oil being released is more likely in the range of 56,000-80,000 barrels per day. Even if you go with the lower estimate of 56K barrels a day, that means more than 2.3 MILLION gallons. A day.
BP’s CEO, Tony Hayward, has had the gall to try to downplay the damage being caused to the Gulf. "The Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume," Hayward said.
But thanks to the “hot tap,” the smaller pipe that BP has shoved into the gaping pipe that is hemorrhaging oil, we’re saved, right? BP is proudly reporting today that the “hot tap” is now siphoning off 5,000 barrels of oil per day. However, as BP has maintained all along that only 5,000 gallons of oil a day have been leaking, and significant quantities of oil are STILL gushing out, this puts them in a bit of a quandary. You can watch a live feed of the oil leak here.
5.06.2010
Stand by Me
My brother-in-law and his family were in town for JazzFest last weekend, and we spent one of the days they were here just wandering around in the Quarter. It was a fabulous weekend for it--a wonderful breeze blowing in from the Gulf, warm--not hot--weather, Pimm's cups from the Napoleon House, and the most amazing amount of street musicians out that I've seen in a long time in the Quarter.
On just about every street we walked down, there was an awesome musician playing. We saw a group of teenagers who were right up there with Rebirth in their brass band skills. We spent about 30 minutes and $30 in tips watching them. We saw a funky group playing in Jackson Square with a clarinet, a violin, a keyboard, and a drum set.
And then on Royal Street, of course, we saw Grandpa Elliott, whom I love, and who is now a lot more famous thanks to Playing for Change. I had a nice little chat with Grandpa Elliott, and of course, got talked into buying a copy of his new CD. He's quite the salesman. Everyone has seen this video at least a dozen times now, but I still love it, along with the rest of the Playing for Change DVD.
On just about every street we walked down, there was an awesome musician playing. We saw a group of teenagers who were right up there with Rebirth in their brass band skills. We spent about 30 minutes and $30 in tips watching them. We saw a funky group playing in Jackson Square with a clarinet, a violin, a keyboard, and a drum set.
And then on Royal Street, of course, we saw Grandpa Elliott, whom I love, and who is now a lot more famous thanks to Playing for Change. I had a nice little chat with Grandpa Elliott, and of course, got talked into buying a copy of his new CD. He's quite the salesman. Everyone has seen this video at least a dozen times now, but I still love it, along with the rest of the Playing for Change DVD.
4.30.2010
Oil and Water
Jesus, what a mess this is. In a lot of ways, it really does feel like a replay of Katrina. We seem to have all of the necessary acts, including a catastrophic threat lurking in the Gulf, a too-slow response by the Federal government, plenty of everyone-remain-calm patronizing, and lots and lots of coulda-shoulda-wouldas and passing of the buck.
Yesterday, I walked outside of work and into a permeable stench in the air--it smelled like a combination of melting asphalt and diesel fuel. Gee. I wonder what that smell could be, with an oil spill the size of Jamaica 15 miles off of our coast? And then we get to hear people on the radio and television news, downplaying the stench and implying that everyone around here is working themselves into hysterics and experiencing some mass olfactory hypnosis. (But just to be on the safe side, even though we're all crazy and imagining the smell, they have DEQ monitoring the air quality.) This morning on the news, I swear I heard one of the local reporters say that the smell could be with us for the next 30-60 days. Can you imagine how lovely that will be once the real heat and humidity of summer hit us? Imagine a 90-degree, 98% humidity day with the added bonus of a reek of oil in the air. Doesn't that sound delightful?
Yesterday, I walked outside of work and into a permeable stench in the air--it smelled like a combination of melting asphalt and diesel fuel. Gee. I wonder what that smell could be, with an oil spill the size of Jamaica 15 miles off of our coast? And then we get to hear people on the radio and television news, downplaying the stench and implying that everyone around here is working themselves into hysterics and experiencing some mass olfactory hypnosis. (But just to be on the safe side, even though we're all crazy and imagining the smell, they have DEQ monitoring the air quality.) This morning on the news, I swear I heard one of the local reporters say that the smell could be with us for the next 30-60 days. Can you imagine how lovely that will be once the real heat and humidity of summer hit us? Imagine a 90-degree, 98% humidity day with the added bonus of a reek of oil in the air. Doesn't that sound delightful?
4.27.2010
Point, Georgia
In the continuing game Kenny and I like to play to decide whose home state is more embarrassing, my native state doesn't fail to disappoint as the great state of Georgia jumps on the birther bandwagon:
"[A] recent poll finds that only 58 percent of Americans say that Obama was born in the U.S. Twenty-three percent say they don't know, and 20 percent say he was born in another country."
Ah, living in the South. It never fails to disappoint. My only consolation is that the first state to pass a birther bill was Arizona. As Jon Stewart said last night, Arizona seems to be the meth lab of democracy.
"[A] recent poll finds that only 58 percent of Americans say that Obama was born in the U.S. Twenty-three percent say they don't know, and 20 percent say he was born in another country."
Ah, living in the South. It never fails to disappoint. My only consolation is that the first state to pass a birther bill was Arizona. As Jon Stewart said last night, Arizona seems to be the meth lab of democracy.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Law & Border | ||||
| ||||
4.20.2010
Hail to the Chi-Chi-Chi-Chia
I have now officially seen everything--I wonder if the "Proud to be American" chia series is made in China? And there's a Hillary chia pet, too! If you're on my Christmas gift giving list, you should be very afraid.
3.31.2010
Shit
The good news? Emmeline got accepted into the new magnet school for advanced studies in Jefferson Parish. The bad news? It's in Airline Park.
I don't think there's really any way in hell I'm going to be happy driving E out to Airline Park every day and then picking her up again in the afternoons. That is just way. Too. Far.
Kenny and I had a long talk about it tonight. Even though we're about 99.99% sure that we do NOT want to deal with getting E there and back every day, at the same time, it's very hard to just walk away from free tuition. That would be a savings of $700 per month. $700 a month we could definitely put to good use. I think Kenny is more for the idea than I am. I also think a big part of that has to do with the fact that he knows that I'd be the one responsible for getting E there and back the large majority of the time.
But as I told Kenny, I don't want to move to Airline Park. I don't want to move to Metairie. If we could have gotten E into the magnet school in Old Metairie, I would've considered that, because that would've meant we could stay in Old Jefferson. But she didn't get in there, not surprisingly.
Did I mention that I don't want to move to Airline Park? Or to Metairie? No offense to the people who live there--it's just not for me.
To be quite honest, I have my heart set on moving back into the city. To Lakeview, specifically, as I've recently discovered that there are still houses to be had at a somewhat affordable price there. (It might have something to do with all of the flooded and gutted houses that remain there.) And if we moved back into the city to Lakeview, E could go to Hynes. Or, since I'm an employee of a certain university that has priority at Lusher, she could probably go there.
But do we give up the sure thing of free tuition in Airline Park, even if I can't see myself being happy living out there? I don't want to enroll her in a school out there for a couple of years and then decide that we're moving back into the city limits and move her to yet another school. I'd rather just keep on paying tuition at her current school, even though, once again, we could really use that money. So if we move her to Airline Park, I feel like we have to be willing to move to that area. But if we don't move her there and take a gamble that we'll be able to get a house back in the city again and get her in one of the good public schools there and that falls through, then what?
Shit.
I don't think there's really any way in hell I'm going to be happy driving E out to Airline Park every day and then picking her up again in the afternoons. That is just way. Too. Far.
Kenny and I had a long talk about it tonight. Even though we're about 99.99% sure that we do NOT want to deal with getting E there and back every day, at the same time, it's very hard to just walk away from free tuition. That would be a savings of $700 per month. $700 a month we could definitely put to good use. I think Kenny is more for the idea than I am. I also think a big part of that has to do with the fact that he knows that I'd be the one responsible for getting E there and back the large majority of the time.
But as I told Kenny, I don't want to move to Airline Park. I don't want to move to Metairie. If we could have gotten E into the magnet school in Old Metairie, I would've considered that, because that would've meant we could stay in Old Jefferson. But she didn't get in there, not surprisingly.
Did I mention that I don't want to move to Airline Park? Or to Metairie? No offense to the people who live there--it's just not for me.
To be quite honest, I have my heart set on moving back into the city. To Lakeview, specifically, as I've recently discovered that there are still houses to be had at a somewhat affordable price there. (It might have something to do with all of the flooded and gutted houses that remain there.) And if we moved back into the city to Lakeview, E could go to Hynes. Or, since I'm an employee of a certain university that has priority at Lusher, she could probably go there.
But do we give up the sure thing of free tuition in Airline Park, even if I can't see myself being happy living out there? I don't want to enroll her in a school out there for a couple of years and then decide that we're moving back into the city limits and move her to yet another school. I'd rather just keep on paying tuition at her current school, even though, once again, we could really use that money. So if we move her to Airline Park, I feel like we have to be willing to move to that area. But if we don't move her there and take a gamble that we'll be able to get a house back in the city again and get her in one of the good public schools there and that falls through, then what?
Shit.
3.26.2010
Vive le Reform!
Doc from First Draft sums up my feelings about the Republican reaction to the passage of health care reform just right:
However, of all the things we could argue that the Washington Senators shouldn't be spending money on, keeping us alive and preventing people from screwing us in the process is one that we should all agree on. Had President Potato-Head done this, Glenn Beck would be masturbating on TV about how great it is that we're in the Great American Century and how the world is now safe to children-to-be in the wombs of all good mothers who are growing Republican Children for Christ. Instead, a black Democrat did it, so it's got to be a conspiracy to give welfare cheats a chance to get better Schedule 1 narcotics.
I could write a long diatribe about how frustrating and disturbing I find the whole state of the conservative movement to be right now--but I'm restraining myself, because I don't want to spend the next three hours at my computer. Suffice it to say, I'm a life-long liberal. Whenever anyone asks me what that means to me to label myself as a liberal, and what that means I believe in, my answer is always the same three things--that education is a right, not a privelege; that health care is a right, not a privilege; and that you should be allowed equal rights under the law--including marriage--no matter who you love. We can agree to disagree on anything but those three things. You're for the war in Iraq? Okay, tell me why. I'll at least listen to and try to understand your reasons. If you abhor big government and want to give me your 30-minute-long Libertarian spiel, I'll listen to you. I'll point out what's wrong with your argument as often as possible, but I'll enjoy debating with you about it and I'll let you get your points across.
But if you want to see me absolutely lose it, then engage me in a conversation about how capitalism and the free market should rule everything, including determining whether children are allowed to get a good education or whether poor people should be allowed access to health care other than what they'll get when they finally have to get treated at the emergency room. And then throw in a couple of Bible verses about how it's a sin for a man to lie down with another man.
So, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm for health care reform and happy we've taken these first steps.
However, of all the things we could argue that the Washington Senators shouldn't be spending money on, keeping us alive and preventing people from screwing us in the process is one that we should all agree on. Had President Potato-Head done this, Glenn Beck would be masturbating on TV about how great it is that we're in the Great American Century and how the world is now safe to children-to-be in the wombs of all good mothers who are growing Republican Children for Christ. Instead, a black Democrat did it, so it's got to be a conspiracy to give welfare cheats a chance to get better Schedule 1 narcotics.
I could write a long diatribe about how frustrating and disturbing I find the whole state of the conservative movement to be right now--but I'm restraining myself, because I don't want to spend the next three hours at my computer. Suffice it to say, I'm a life-long liberal. Whenever anyone asks me what that means to me to label myself as a liberal, and what that means I believe in, my answer is always the same three things--that education is a right, not a privelege; that health care is a right, not a privilege; and that you should be allowed equal rights under the law--including marriage--no matter who you love. We can agree to disagree on anything but those three things. You're for the war in Iraq? Okay, tell me why. I'll at least listen to and try to understand your reasons. If you abhor big government and want to give me your 30-minute-long Libertarian spiel, I'll listen to you. I'll point out what's wrong with your argument as often as possible, but I'll enjoy debating with you about it and I'll let you get your points across.
But if you want to see me absolutely lose it, then engage me in a conversation about how capitalism and the free market should rule everything, including determining whether children are allowed to get a good education or whether poor people should be allowed access to health care other than what they'll get when they finally have to get treated at the emergency room. And then throw in a couple of Bible verses about how it's a sin for a man to lie down with another man.
So, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm for health care reform and happy we've taken these first steps.
3.23.2010
Conversations With a Five-Year-Old, Volume One
Me: Emmeline, it's time to put your toys up and get in the bathtub.
E: Aw, Mommy, can't I play for five more minutes?
Me: No, I already gave you five more minutes. Now it's time to get in the bath.
E: You know what? I hate you, Mommy!
And so it begins. I thought I had at least another couple of years before the "I hate you's" started. What fun.
E: Aw, Mommy, can't I play for five more minutes?
Me: No, I already gave you five more minutes. Now it's time to get in the bath.
E: You know what? I hate you, Mommy!
And so it begins. I thought I had at least another couple of years before the "I hate you's" started. What fun.
3.17.2010
Google Search of the Month
Sorry, faithful four readers--life keeps getting in the way of blogging. I keep thinking I have something interesting to say and then my boss throws the guidelines for yet another grant application that's due in two weeks on my desk and that's the end of any cognizant thoughts for the time being.
In order to keep you tuning in, though, I present another journey into the weird, warped minds that is people using the google. This month's totally intriguing entrance into my blog brought to you by everyone's favorite search engine?
"Boob vacuum cleaner."
It's spelled right, and it's lovely in its direct, to-the-point way of wondering what to do when you get your boob caught in a vacuum cleaner and/or what to do if you're contemplating sticking your boob in a vacuum cleaner. Well said, google searcher, well said.
Oh, and there were lots of searches for "gris gone wild" and/or porn (or "pron"). But you already knew that, didn't you?
Okay, back to my grant....
In order to keep you tuning in, though, I present another journey into the weird, warped minds that is people using the google. This month's totally intriguing entrance into my blog brought to you by everyone's favorite search engine?
"Boob vacuum cleaner."
It's spelled right, and it's lovely in its direct, to-the-point way of wondering what to do when you get your boob caught in a vacuum cleaner and/or what to do if you're contemplating sticking your boob in a vacuum cleaner. Well said, google searcher, well said.
Oh, and there were lots of searches for "gris gone wild" and/or porn (or "pron"). But you already knew that, didn't you?
Okay, back to my grant....
3.03.2010
Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Eight
This conversation took place while Emmeline was playing with one of my old Barbie dolls from the 70's, who is, apparently, an Orca by today's Barbie figure standards and doesn't fit into half of the new Barbie clothes.
E: Mommy, some of my Barbies are really fat.
Me: What?
E: Yeah, some of them are really fat and can't fit into these clothes. See? Her tummy is sticking out of this shirt.
Me: Wow. You're right--those clothes don't fit my old Barbie at all, do they?
E: No. But that's okay. Because having your tummy stick out of your clothes like that makes you look like a rock star!
Okay, now I'm off to write a letter to Mattel about what they're doing to little girls' conceptions of what their bodies should look like....
E: Mommy, some of my Barbies are really fat.
Me: What?
E: Yeah, some of them are really fat and can't fit into these clothes. See? Her tummy is sticking out of this shirt.
Me: Wow. You're right--those clothes don't fit my old Barbie at all, do they?
E: No. But that's okay. Because having your tummy stick out of your clothes like that makes you look like a rock star!
Okay, now I'm off to write a letter to Mattel about what they're doing to little girls' conceptions of what their bodies should look like....
3.01.2010
We Believed
If you want to know why we believed this season, if you want to know why we knew this team really was something special, this is why:
Poor, sad Tom Brady. I like to think he's saying "we are so f@cked."
If you want to know how we knew we were going to the Super Bowl, knew it deep down in our bones, even though we were still anxious, even though we knew, rationally, that we couldn't really make it come true just by believing it hard enough, this is why:
Poor, sad Kurt Warner. Poor, sad Brett Favre. Poor, sad Peyton Manning.
February 7, 2010, is a day that I'll never forget. I didn't have the opportunity to go to Miami, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world but in New Orleans on that day. The day started off with Mardi Gras parades on St. Charles Avenue; it ended with watching our team win the freaking Super Bowl!!! When the Saints came out of the half and executed that onsides kick, the grown men I watched the game with, including my husband, began crying and spontaneously hugging each other. By the time Tracy Porter got the pick six, we were all levitating off the ground. I had friends and family members who've never cared about football calling me screaming in excitement. Over our Saints.
When the game was over and all of the champagne was gone (most of it ended up on the ground--we were jumping up and down too much to drink it), we walked out of the back yard and into the street. We wanted to watch for fireworks. We watched the game at the house of some friends who live in a college neighborhood, and the street was deathly silent--all of the college kids in the area had gone off to bars to watch the game. So about 15 of us stood on this dark, quiet street and took it all in. We could hear the city erupt around us in joy. And as we turned around, we could hear it from all sides. Fireworks were exploding in the sky and there were just waves of roars and screams rolling in over us. It was amazing.
Do I wish we'd been able to go out to the Quarter and join the party afterwards? Of course. But we had a very sleepy four-year-old to take home, so we did. We stopped at a gas station and joined in on a spontaneous singing of "Halftime" with everyone else pumping gas. And then we went home and watched the game on our DVR. Again. And cried. Again.
New Orleans Saints, you have made our year, our decade, our lives. You have made more people ecstatically happy than you'll probably ever know. That was an amazing year. We believed. Thank you.
And....Win. Again.
Drew Brees at Lucy's Retired Surfers' Bar in New Orleans after the NFC Championship game.
Poor, sad Tom Brady. I like to think he's saying "we are so f@cked."
If you want to know how we knew we were going to the Super Bowl, knew it deep down in our bones, even though we were still anxious, even though we knew, rationally, that we couldn't really make it come true just by believing it hard enough, this is why:
Poor, sad Kurt Warner. Poor, sad Brett Favre. Poor, sad Peyton Manning.
February 7, 2010, is a day that I'll never forget. I didn't have the opportunity to go to Miami, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world but in New Orleans on that day. The day started off with Mardi Gras parades on St. Charles Avenue; it ended with watching our team win the freaking Super Bowl!!! When the Saints came out of the half and executed that onsides kick, the grown men I watched the game with, including my husband, began crying and spontaneously hugging each other. By the time Tracy Porter got the pick six, we were all levitating off the ground. I had friends and family members who've never cared about football calling me screaming in excitement. Over our Saints.
When the game was over and all of the champagne was gone (most of it ended up on the ground--we were jumping up and down too much to drink it), we walked out of the back yard and into the street. We wanted to watch for fireworks. We watched the game at the house of some friends who live in a college neighborhood, and the street was deathly silent--all of the college kids in the area had gone off to bars to watch the game. So about 15 of us stood on this dark, quiet street and took it all in. We could hear the city erupt around us in joy. And as we turned around, we could hear it from all sides. Fireworks were exploding in the sky and there were just waves of roars and screams rolling in over us. It was amazing.
Do I wish we'd been able to go out to the Quarter and join the party afterwards? Of course. But we had a very sleepy four-year-old to take home, so we did. We stopped at a gas station and joined in on a spontaneous singing of "Halftime" with everyone else pumping gas. And then we went home and watched the game on our DVR. Again. And cried. Again.
New Orleans Saints, you have made our year, our decade, our lives. You have made more people ecstatically happy than you'll probably ever know. That was an amazing year. We believed. Thank you.
And....Win. Again.
Drew Brees at Lucy's Retired Surfers' Bar in New Orleans after the NFC Championship game.
2.24.2010
The Week(s) In Review
So yes, I'm still alive. Kind of.
It's been a very busy couple of weeks, in between work, Mardi Gras, the Saints going to the Super Bowl, the Saints winning the Super Bowl, getting to publish a modified blog post in an online journal, going to the Saints Super Bowl parade, spring cleaning the house, etc.
Let's begin, shall we?
Work is absolutely insane right now, and I've been living, eating, and breathing it lately. I still maintain that it was highly inconsiderate of NIH to set the deadline for one grant application and three grant progress reports, all of which are 20-50 pages long, less than two weeks after Mardi Gras. Poor planning, people. I don't care if you do live in a place where Mardi Gras doesn't exist.
Recently, I introduced Emmeline to computer games. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, it makes me feel less guilty when she's being babysat by the computer rather than the television when I need to do something really important, like vacuum. So anyway, I showed her how to get on NickJr. and play coloring games, Candy Land, etc. Great, right? Yeah, it was, until one night last week, when I didn't think and let her bring a big cup of water (sans lid) in here with her to play on the computer. I also didn't think when she came running into the kitchen to grab a towel. (I believe I was busy vacuuming or something.) So, fast-forward about 20 minutes, when I go to tell her dinner is ready, and find her sitting there with a panicked look on her face, in front of a still-dripping, madly beeping laptop. It died shortly thereafter, bless its heart. So I was without a computer for a while. Note to self: no more food or beverages allowed around the laptop if you're under 30.
And sadly, I can't even bring myself to be all that mad at Emmeline for trying to sneak the destruction of the computer past me. I'm sure all children her age are sneaky to some extent, but she is my child. When I was a kid, I made trying to get things past my parents into an art form and can't help but wonder if she somehow inherited the trait. I still get constant hell from my family about the time when I was about E's age and wrote my name on the wall with a pen. I then denied it up and down, backwards and forwards, and had all sorts of answers as to who would write my name on the wall. And why. I don't think I ever admitted that I was the one who wrote on the wall. (Although in hindsight, I probably should've picked something else to write if I were going to try to deny culpability.)
As I said, my husband and I are doing some spring cleaning right now, which resulted in an extremely entertaining fight about what else but the vacuum cleaner? Kenny decided that the reason there's so much dog hair and dirt in our house is not because we have a golden retriever who sheds about eight pounds of hair a day, but is because although I vacuum the house about three times a week, I'm not vacuuming properly. That's right, folks, the man who is apparently more afraid of our vacuum cleaner than our dog is, and who therefore never touches the thing, told me our house wouldn't be so dirty if I would just clean better. I'm sure you can imagine where I told him he could stick the vacuum cleaner hose. I would also like to point out that the next time the vacuum cleaner made an appearance, it was because he was the one doing the vacuuming.
So that's about it. My life in a nutshell. Did I mention that there was also Mardi Gras? And the Saints winning the Super Bowl? And a Super Bowl parade? All of which I had lots of great pictures of, about 2/3 of which were on the computer? That Emmeline spilled water all over? And then it died and I lost everything on it?
Sigh. Guess I'll go vacuum now.
It's been a very busy couple of weeks, in between work, Mardi Gras, the Saints going to the Super Bowl, the Saints winning the Super Bowl, getting to publish a modified blog post in an online journal, going to the Saints Super Bowl parade, spring cleaning the house, etc.
Let's begin, shall we?
Work is absolutely insane right now, and I've been living, eating, and breathing it lately. I still maintain that it was highly inconsiderate of NIH to set the deadline for one grant application and three grant progress reports, all of which are 20-50 pages long, less than two weeks after Mardi Gras. Poor planning, people. I don't care if you do live in a place where Mardi Gras doesn't exist.
Recently, I introduced Emmeline to computer games. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, it makes me feel less guilty when she's being babysat by the computer rather than the television when I need to do something really important, like vacuum. So anyway, I showed her how to get on NickJr. and play coloring games, Candy Land, etc. Great, right? Yeah, it was, until one night last week, when I didn't think and let her bring a big cup of water (sans lid) in here with her to play on the computer. I also didn't think when she came running into the kitchen to grab a towel. (I believe I was busy vacuuming or something.) So, fast-forward about 20 minutes, when I go to tell her dinner is ready, and find her sitting there with a panicked look on her face, in front of a still-dripping, madly beeping laptop. It died shortly thereafter, bless its heart. So I was without a computer for a while. Note to self: no more food or beverages allowed around the laptop if you're under 30.
And sadly, I can't even bring myself to be all that mad at Emmeline for trying to sneak the destruction of the computer past me. I'm sure all children her age are sneaky to some extent, but she is my child. When I was a kid, I made trying to get things past my parents into an art form and can't help but wonder if she somehow inherited the trait. I still get constant hell from my family about the time when I was about E's age and wrote my name on the wall with a pen. I then denied it up and down, backwards and forwards, and had all sorts of answers as to who would write my name on the wall. And why. I don't think I ever admitted that I was the one who wrote on the wall. (Although in hindsight, I probably should've picked something else to write if I were going to try to deny culpability.)
As I said, my husband and I are doing some spring cleaning right now, which resulted in an extremely entertaining fight about what else but the vacuum cleaner? Kenny decided that the reason there's so much dog hair and dirt in our house is not because we have a golden retriever who sheds about eight pounds of hair a day, but is because although I vacuum the house about three times a week, I'm not vacuuming properly. That's right, folks, the man who is apparently more afraid of our vacuum cleaner than our dog is, and who therefore never touches the thing, told me our house wouldn't be so dirty if I would just clean better. I'm sure you can imagine where I told him he could stick the vacuum cleaner hose. I would also like to point out that the next time the vacuum cleaner made an appearance, it was because he was the one doing the vacuuming.
So that's about it. My life in a nutshell. Did I mention that there was also Mardi Gras? And the Saints winning the Super Bowl? And a Super Bowl parade? All of which I had lots of great pictures of, about 2/3 of which were on the computer? That Emmeline spilled water all over? And then it died and I lost everything on it?
Sigh. Guess I'll go vacuum now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)