1 I live in a city overrun by gun violence, and in general, I wish there were a lot less guns floating around. (Beefs that might otherwise end in somebody getting beat up instead end in somebody getting shot up. And dead.) That being said, I personally quite like shooting guns. I grew up around them, and I killed my share of tin cans in my youth. But before I ever pulled a trigger, I was given extensive instruction. It mystifies me that we require rigorous training to drive a car, but owning an incredibly deadly little piece of weaponry? Meh. Take your chances.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
We didn't catch these. We bought them off the dock from some hardcore old crabbers1 on the way back to town. Crabs are probably on my list of top three favorite foods, and these were the most spectacular crabs I'd ever seen.2
1 As an armchair sociologist, briefly hanging out with these guys was absolutely fascinating: just an hour from town but a world apart, out past the levee system, guys who go out into the saltwater and make their living from what they find there, a lifetime spent in this end-of-the-earth marsh-and-gulf world.a
a And the people who inhabit that world are not like you and me. Did you see Beasts of the Southern Wild? These guys (and ladies) could have played extras as occupants of "The Bathtub". (I realize I sound like a hopeless urbanite. Fair enough. I spent my years in rural Virginia, but this is not that. And I am undeniably first and foremost a city boy. Maybe it also sounds condescending. I don't mean it too. The skill and back-breaking work they bring to this dangerousb and fickle profession: seriously impressive.)2 Except for the couple dozen beautiful specimens we bought off of them, their haul was destined for Baltimore — harvested in battered old boats, packed into shiny containers, and whisked away by jet to be consumed as delicacies in the far off establishments of the East Coast.
b The oldest of the old timers told us the story — in a near incomprehensible accent — of his neighbor in the next boat over who lost his hand a while back but now wore a prosthetic hatchet-hand and could still "work like the best of them".
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Went fishing. There are many fine things about fishing (including catching fish (and then eating them)), but slinging through the waterways of far south Louisiana, in early dawn, as the sun climbs over the horizon, changing the world from gray to yellow-orange to vivid blue and and yellow and green (to sweltering white-blinding hot), is perhaps one of the finest.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Sunday, June 09, 2013
I like lightning. I like it when it rumbles close at hand. And I like it now, when some evening summer storm cell drifts by somewhere to the north, tens of miles away, making not a sound, but flicker-flashing the far sky, for a moment illuminating its roiling clouds. I like that.
Saturday, June 08, 2013
There's a big block party going on outside: the street packed with parked cars, folks rolling in looking sharp, a dee-jay spinning all the block party classics. I strolled Floyd past and then saw the memorial flowers (and memorial t-shirts). Oh. And what better reason to have a huge blow out? If I have the good fortune — at some distant and appropriate time — to die in New Orleans, one of my few regrets will be that I can't attend my own memorial shindig. You all'd better throw me a good one.
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
I would argue that five-thirty in the morning is too early to be loud and grumbly, though I'm not going to share that opinion with the loud grumbly man on the porch across the way. He's got a lot of opinions on a lot of things, and they're mostly not favorable, and they're mostly expressed with a whole effin' lot of f-bombs. (I can't see him; he's talking to somebody, but the other person has little to say and says those few things comparatively quietly.) I'm not complaining. He's loud, but he's too far away to be loud for me. (The wind catches and blows away every other foul-mouthed word or so.) And he's grumbly, but he is adding some entertainment value to my morning. (A free-effin'-associative string of grumbly effin' grumps can be pretty effin' funny.) I just think he should cheer up. It's a nice morning. He probably needs a hug (though I'm not volunteering).