God Or Fried Chicken
I am frankly a little hesitant to even pass on this very big news, due to the immaturity of some of my male readers, and each of you, right now, know I'm talking about you, on the east coast--in Brooklyn, Jersey City, and the LES, and to my new readers, New Orleanians and otherwho's, whose immaturity I just assume but lack personal knowledge of, except for that of my Uptown nephew (its pretty much in the bloodline) And you out there in CA pretending to be a Hi-Def corporate giant, keep it shut. And don't think I'm not talking about you, you rock star looking lawyer in Dallas. And you, Mr. BC, in VA, flirting with the Lear and/or a better anti-anxiety biscuit, just shut your immature mouth and don't even think immature thoughts about this big news. Because I got gas, yes I do, I got gas, uh huh, I got gas mthrfkrs, got it down in the N.O. I shouldn't be a sexist pig so I won't be. To my female fart joke lovers, quit being immature, and possibly, you might want to name a band after yourselves, if Dave Barry hasn't already suggested it.
Yeah, so. I got gas running to my house. Nobody told me I had gas, even though to be honest, nobody had to, because due to illness or bad diet, having gas was lately a thing pretty damn evident to me. Lucky for others I stay often to myself. That was an example of the type of immaturity I'm trying to avoid here, on this momentous day. How it happened was that 85 year-old dude back living in his house around the corner, stopped his truck in the street today and we talked about him being back and I ask him if he and his wife had stayed there those few very cold days and nights (it's warm again) recently, and was it cold and he said, no, he had gas, so, after we talked, I went and turned my gas meter on and then my stove, and voila.
I was on a six week waiting list for a hot water heater about 3 months ago. My water heater is in a shed outside and evidently four feet of flood water renders them useless. I should have taken care of that business instead of whatever the hell else I've been doing, (which partly was just assuming I would never have services restored to my neighborhood) because if I had, I'd be taken a hot shower right now instead of typing on this little Sony Vaio (still powered by a hundred foot extension cord running off the converter plugged into my cigarette lighter in the truck) while a big crawfish pot boils just water, slowly on my stove.
I ran some cold water into my tub, but clearly too much, because I just poured the first pot of hot water in there and when I stuck my hand into it, expecting tepid, it was still cold. I got another pot on the stove now, while the sun sets and I get ready to light the candles so I can see what I'm doing.
Over in Metarie today caulking windows to Chicago brick and this guy from India next door starts chatting me up about caulk and I clued him in to the intricacies of pure silicone versus acrylic latex silicone caulk and before I knew it he was confessing his Katrina related emotions towards suicide (the suicide numbers are pretty high in these first 6 post-K months). I told him, man, there is nobody here, I mean nobody, who isn't having some type of extreme emotional reaction to the Great Flood and don't be ashamed or hesitant to seek professional help (some of it free) and he said he was just praying, and I said, cool.
The mother of the woman whose house we are working on said to me on her second visit to the job site today, was that pile of dirt here this morning? I just smiled at her and nodded and she blushed and I said don't sweat it, we all got it, that weird memory thing, evidently related to the unique stress of living in a world turned asunder. She said, yeah, and then you could tell she was trying to remember something and she said, I've got CRS, and then you could tell she was trying to remember what that stands for, and finally she said, can't remember shit. She then told me two jokes and here they are--Beaudreaux in St. Bernard Parish heard that all the churches were being shut down (because there ain't no people because there ain't no viable houses for them to live in) but Beaudreaux said he didn't care about that because he preferred Popeye's. The next joke is lame too, pretty much an old standard, but not as regional and has nothing to do with Houses of God or fried chicken. A man is talking to his buddy and confides--you know, I didn't have sex with my wife before I married her. Hoping for a reciprocal confession he says to his buddy, what about you? His buddy says, well, I don't know, what was your wife's maiden name?
What did the snail riding on the back of the turtle say? Weeeeeeeee! That's D's favorite joke, but she hasn't heard the Popeye's one.
These might be a bit extravagant, but since you have so much gas ...
LP, NG generators
conversion kits
D has a generator hooked to the propane tank as a backup power source, and it works great.
How was that bath? It always amazed me how the old claw foot tub could chill a big pot of boiling water. Tip from an ex-dweller of the LES: add cold at the end if needed.
Now that your cooking with gas, I got something that will turbo charge your GI tract. Without regular power, you might not be watching Lucy's Classic Cajun Culture and Cooking, but I can fill you in ...
Crawfish Corn Soup
================
1 lb. frozen crawfish tails
1/2 stick butter (or margarine)
1 & 1/2 c. chopped green onion tops
1 - 8 oz. pkg cream cheese
2 - 10 3/4 oz. cans condensed cream of potato soup
2 - 14 oz. cans whole kernel corn (one white & one yellow)
1 - 10 3/4 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
16 oz. half and half
both spices (salt AND pepper)
little bit of hot sauce
Tho' it all in a pot, and get it hot with a fahr. And enjoy!
I would have to take out a second mortgage to afford the crawfish this year.
The bath was great, although it's almost hot enough here to take cold showers again.
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I am frankly a little hesitant to even pass on this very big news, due to the immaturity of some of my male readers, and each of you, right now, know I'm talking about you, on the east coast--in Brooklyn, Jersey City, and the LES, and to my new readers, New Orleanians and otherwho's, whose immaturity I just assume but lack personal knowledge of, except for that of my Uptown nephew (its pretty much in the bloodline) And you out there in CA pretending to be a Hi-Def corporate giant, keep it shut. And don't think I'm not talking about you, you rock star looking lawyer in Dallas. And you, Mr. BC, in VA, flirting with the Lear and/or a better anti-anxiety biscuit, just shut your immature mouth and don't even think immature thoughts about this big news. Because I got gas, yes I do, I got gas, uh huh, I got gas mthrfkrs, got it down in the N.O. I shouldn't be a sexist pig so I won't be. To my female fart joke lovers, quit being immature, and possibly, you might want to name a band after yourselves, if Dave Barry hasn't already suggested it.
Yeah, so. I got gas running to my house. Nobody told me I had gas, even though to be honest, nobody had to, because due to illness or bad diet, having gas was lately a thing pretty damn evident to me. Lucky for others I stay often to myself. That was an example of the type of immaturity I'm trying to avoid here, on this momentous day. How it happened was that 85 year-old dude back living in his house around the corner, stopped his truck in the street today and we talked about him being back and I ask him if he and his wife had stayed there those few very cold days and nights (it's warm again) recently, and was it cold and he said, no, he had gas, so, after we talked, I went and turned my gas meter on and then my stove, and voila.
I was on a six week waiting list for a hot water heater about 3 months ago. My water heater is in a shed outside and evidently four feet of flood water renders them useless. I should have taken care of that business instead of whatever the hell else I've been doing, (which partly was just assuming I would never have services restored to my neighborhood) because if I had, I'd be taken a hot shower right now instead of typing on this little Sony Vaio (still powered by a hundred foot extension cord running off the converter plugged into my cigarette lighter in the truck) while a big crawfish pot boils just water, slowly on my stove.
I ran some cold water into my tub, but clearly too much, because I just poured the first pot of hot water in there and when I stuck my hand into it, expecting tepid, it was still cold. I got another pot on the stove now, while the sun sets and I get ready to light the candles so I can see what I'm doing.
Over in Metarie today caulking windows to Chicago brick and this guy from India next door starts chatting me up about caulk and I clued him in to the intricacies of pure silicone versus acrylic latex silicone caulk and before I knew it he was confessing his Katrina related emotions towards suicide (the suicide numbers are pretty high in these first 6 post-K months). I told him, man, there is nobody here, I mean nobody, who isn't having some type of extreme emotional reaction to the Great Flood and don't be ashamed or hesitant to seek professional help (some of it free) and he said he was just praying, and I said, cool.
The mother of the woman whose house we are working on said to me on her second visit to the job site today, was that pile of dirt here this morning? I just smiled at her and nodded and she blushed and I said don't sweat it, we all got it, that weird memory thing, evidently related to the unique stress of living in a world turned asunder. She said, yeah, and then you could tell she was trying to remember something and she said, I've got CRS, and then you could tell she was trying to remember what that stands for, and finally she said, can't remember shit. She then told me two jokes and here they are--Beaudreaux in St. Bernard Parish heard that all the churches were being shut down (because there ain't no people because there ain't no viable houses for them to live in) but Beaudreaux said he didn't care about that because he preferred Popeye's. The next joke is lame too, pretty much an old standard, but not as regional and has nothing to do with Houses of God or fried chicken. A man is talking to his buddy and confides--you know, I didn't have sex with my wife before I married her. Hoping for a reciprocal confession he says to his buddy, what about you? His buddy says, well, I don't know, what was your wife's maiden name?
- jimlouis 2-16-2006 5:02 am
What did the snail riding on the back of the turtle say? Weeeeeeeee! That's D's favorite joke, but she hasn't heard the Popeye's one.
These might be a bit extravagant, but since you have so much gas ...
LP, NG generators
conversion kits
D has a generator hooked to the propane tank as a backup power source, and it works great.
- mark 2-16-2006 6:57 am [add a comment]
How was that bath? It always amazed me how the old claw foot tub could chill a big pot of boiling water. Tip from an ex-dweller of the LES: add cold at the end if needed.
- steve 2-16-2006 8:27 am [add a comment]
Now that your cooking with gas, I got something that will turbo charge your GI tract. Without regular power, you might not be watching Lucy's Classic Cajun Culture and Cooking, but I can fill you in ...
Crawfish Corn Soup
================
1 lb. frozen crawfish tails
1/2 stick butter (or margarine)
1 & 1/2 c. chopped green onion tops
1 - 8 oz. pkg cream cheese
2 - 10 3/4 oz. cans condensed cream of potato soup
2 - 14 oz. cans whole kernel corn (one white & one yellow)
1 - 10 3/4 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
16 oz. half and half
both spices (salt AND pepper)
little bit of hot sauce
Tho' it all in a pot, and get it hot with a fahr. And enjoy!
- mark 2-16-2006 9:38 am [add a comment]
I would have to take out a second mortgage to afford the crawfish this year.
The bath was great, although it's almost hot enough here to take cold showers again.
- jimlouis 2-17-2006 11:46 pm [add a comment]